Chapter 1

The masses had gathered in the marketplace below the great tower, and the already gray sky grew darker as black storm clouds roiled through.

The angry shouts of the mob soared up to the tower throne room, to his perch looking over the marketplace. He watched them sadly. He heard their cries, knew their troubles. But he had failed them. In his efforts to improve the quality of life for his people, he had sent them into despair and destitution.

And there was no greater dishonor for a Ferengi than that.

Unless, of course, the Ferengi himself profited from the people's plight.

Which he didn't.

Footsteps grew closer and mingled with the mob's cries as his wife, Leeta entered the room. He could tell those shoes anywhere. Suddenly the footsteps stopped, and he looked at the door.

And there she stood, his Bajoran wife, clad in a simple blue synthetic fabric dress that complemented her short, flaming red hair nicely. Her height allowed the dress to cling perfectly to her sculpted body, and those red shoes made her even taller.

He was short, bald, and had a big head. And he was Ferengi. They looked really strange together.

That was why he loved her.

Leeta, looked at him, smiled sadly. She held out her arms and came to him, and they embraced. "Oh, Rom," she said softly, stroking his lobes.

Rom wasn't certain what to say -- or what to do.

"I should've stuck to being an engineer," was all he could think of. "Quark always said that I didn't have the lobes for business."

Leeta's fingers halted, and she met his eyes. "No, Rom," she said softly. "Quark was wrong - you've made a wonderful Grand Nagus."

"Um… I don't think they agree." He tilted his head to look at the mob below, and Leeta followed his gaze.

"Well…maybe not…" she admitted. "But you've reformed whole aspects of Ferengi life for the better."

"Ferengi don't see my changes as being for the better. They, uh, call me 'Rom the Charitable' - they must really hate me."

Her arms closed tighter around him as columns of pure light began to materialize in the marketplace. He had expected this, and wasn't really surprised when they became the solid forms of the Ferengi Military, weapons held at the ready, prepared for anything, spoiling for a fight unless bribed to do otherwise. It was times like this that Rom wished he'd kept Zek's team of undercover bribery agents; they certainly would have come in handy, as the commanding DaiMon urged his troops to march towards the tower. He watched until he lost sight of them, entering the golden doors directly beneath him.

"May I make a suggestion?"

The voice from behind took them both by surprise, and they turned to see their faithful assistant, Brunt. He stood in the doorway, his immaculate if somewhat over-colorful clothes a direct contrast to his expression - his face had paled, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He performed the traditional cringing bow, before cautiously treading forward. "I believe that this is the point when his glorious Grand Nagusness, not to mention his charming wife, perform the traditional duty of a ruler about to be deposed by an armed militia group."

Leeta started. "What's that?"

"How can I put this subtly… are you familiar with the term 'jump'?"

Rom felt the blood drain from his face, as he pondered the consequences of jumping from the window at this height. The mental images weren't pretty, as he felt Leeta stiffen with anger.

"We're not going to jump from the balcony! We've done nothing wrong!"

"Of course not, of course not." Brunt bowed again. "But there is the matter of the previously-mentioned armed militia group, who are currently racing up the stairs. And as far as I'm aware, the only point of egress from this section of the building is that window."

Leeta gripped Rom's shoulders. "Ignore him. We'll face this together."

Rom could hear them now, the thundering of boots on stone steps mirroring the storm outside. He slipped his hand into her's and settled himself to wait, while Brunt retreated to the corner of the room furthest from the balcony. Rom didn't care if the militia decided to throw all three of them down to the marketplace way, way below. He would be with Leeta.

He didn't have to wait long, and he watched as a familiar face led the armed troops into the circular room. DaiMon Grak, one of the most respected military leaders in Ferengi history, and commander of the Merchant Military Force. Taller than the average Ferengi, about shoulder-height to the average Human, and wearing his usual gray DaiMon's uniform. There was an air of nobility about him that was often lacking in some of the Alliance's commanding officers. He stepped forward, not showing any signs of breathlessness. Rom wondered if he'd taken the turbolift.

"So here you are. The most pathetic, the most miserable, the most generous Grand Nagus that has ever been inflicted upon this world." His tone was scathing. "May I say that it is an honor to depose you."

"Uh, you're welcome," Rom said in a small voice.

The faces of the soldiers brimmed with pride as Grak stepped up to the previously ruling couple. "You two, I'm afraid, are under arrest."

"Yes, arrest them!" A roaring voice sprang up from the back of the room, as Brunt swept out from his hiding place. Twenty-four armed soldiers instantly trained their disruptors upon him, but if it bothered Brunt, he certainly didn't let it show as he strode towards Grak.

The DaiMon regarded him. "And you are…?"

"Brunt, formerly FCA." A snaggle-toothed grin appeared, the ex-liquidator's small eyes showing his devotion. "Take them away, lock them in the smallest, darkest, most revolting hole you can find. You don't know the hell they've put me through, making me bow to their will and collaborate on their vile ideas… it was almost…more than I could take…"

"Liar!" Leeta yelled. "You've been helping us - you were our advisor!"

"Don't listen to the female; don't believe her lies. She's just trying to incriminate me. Like I said, I've suffered so badly. So, so badly…" Brunt dropped to his knees, bald head lowered, only to slowly rise. "But you're here now, and I know that my terrible experiences will never be repeated. You have saved us, DaiMon Grak! Every decent Ferengi owes you a debt, and I can think of no better way to repay you than to be your humble servant…if you'll allow me."

Grak gazed down. "No, I don't think so. Your reputation precedes you, Brunt - a reputation as ex-Grand Nagus Rom's most trusted advisor."

Brunt's devoted features moved to reflect genuine shock. "But - but they made me! They threatened me with the most awful consequences - they were going to confiscate my savings, make me beg on the streets, perhaps even take Federation handouts! I could never have lived with the shame! Working for them was better than that; surely you can understand my terrible plight?"

"Even if I believed all of that, I'd still consider you tainted by their Federation ideals." Grak leaned down, voice gentle. "You're under arrest, too."

"No!" Brunt cried as he was dragged to his feet by two soldiers. "I'm not tainted! I'm a true Ferengi! I hate charity work! I opposed the fund for orphans! Please!"

"And them. Bring them over to the balcony." Grak waved his hand at Rom and Leeta, and they suddenly found themselves being marched towards the door.

"Well," Rom mumbled as they emerged into the open air, the cries of the mob ringing in his ears. "It was nice knowing you."

"Oh, Rom." Leeta smiled at him. "It's been wonderful."

Grak had located the Nagal announcement system, the small receiver that would amplify his voice. Holding it in one hand, he flicked the switch and began to speak.

"Citizens of Ferenginar, a new day has dawned! I have arrested the former ruler of this planet, to set up Martial law and return the Ferengi Alliance to its former glories."

A roar from the crowd drifted up, and Rom could see tiny people raising their arms in triumph. But if Grak noticed their adulation, he didn't show it.

"The things that Ex-Grand Nagus Rom and his clothed wife have done…they sicken me. Welfare programs…trade guilds…intergalactic commerce regulations… we will stand no more. The Ferengi people have watched the economy deteriorate and their latinum become increasingly worthless, as he introduced more and more…human schemes upon us." He spat out human with the usual Ferengi accent, as if the very word was dirty.

"But enough is enough; we will take no more of this." He turned his face to the people below. "From this day on, there will be no more females in the workplace, no more unions, no more charities. We will no longer follow Federation ideals, but the ideals our fathers put in place at the dawn of time - Ferengi ideals."

Another roar, as Grak replaced the receiver. Rom shifted nervously as the DaiMon's gaze fell upon him, expecting a shove to the edge of the balcony at any moment.

"Guards." Grak never broke eye contact. "Take the prisoners to the Nagal prison. We shall see what fate has in store for them."

Rom groaned. "I should definitely have stuck to engineering," Rom muttered miserably, as they were herded back inside and toward the stairs.

* * * *

"So I'm in this tunnel. And I'm lost. And I hit this dead end..." A pause.

"Go ahead. What happens after you hit the dead end?" Dax chided.

Endar Alden blinked as he formulated the next thought in his story. Boy, she sure can be impatient when it suits her, he thought sullenly. "Don't rush me."

Dax blushed and lowered her PADD. "I'm sorry," she replied with a sheepish smile. "Take your time."

Endar let out a wry snort. Cheeky little shrink. You won't get off that easily. "Thank you," he answered mischievously. "I think I will."

They sat together in Ezri's office. Or rather, Ezri sat in her big, comfy counselor's chair while across from her Endar got to lay down on the only thing that passed for the big, comfy patient's couch: the hard and thin Cardassian love seat bolted so close to the wall that he braced himself for fear of falling off. It was a bad habit.

And for the past couple of weeks, Endar and Ezri spent this hour three days a week talking about him. About Endar's past, his family and friends, who he couldn't remember; his hometown, which he couldn't remember; and what happened to him that caused him to lose all these memories, which he so painfully wanted to keep forgotten.

But Ezri wouldn't let that happen.

And that hallucination. Ezri had gotten it into her head somehow that the hallucination had some part of something. So she kept asking the same questions over and over. How'd you get in the tunnel? Why were you in there? Who are the people chasing you? What do they want from you? Questions, questions, and more questions. Enough to drive Endar insane. But he promised Ezri he'd be good.

So he would be good.

"I...I heard the voices," he began again. "And I looked up and saw the boy."

The minute Endar mentioned the boy, he regretted it.

"What does the boy look like?"

Damn! I always forget that question, Endar remembered bitterly. It had all been so mundane, the same questions meeting in and meeting out, to the point where he could recite the meeting from heart. He could practically memorize the order of the questions and answers. Curiously, however, that question always escaped him.

Endar sighed and closed his eyes, picturing the boy in his mind. "He's small, kind of round-faced..."

"Round-faced?" Ezri interrupted quizzically.

He stopped and opened his eyes. "Yeah, you know? His face kind of looks like a circle."

Ezri's brow furrowed.

Endar rolled his eyes and slapped his hand on the couch, trying hard not to wince at the pain of flesh slapping metal. "What?"

Ezri jolted slightly, but she stood her ground well. "It's just," she began, scrolling through the PADD, "on Monday you said the boy had an ovular face."

Endar's eyes narrowed. "No I didn't."

"Yes, Endar. I have the transcript of the entire conversation right here."

Puzzled, he reached out for the PADD. She handed it to him, and sure enough, there it was: the boy had an ovular face.

Did he just mess up the details? Did he purposely miss something? Endar wasn't certain. "I guess I was mistaken. His face was round. I saw it."

"Okay," Ezri said, taking the PADD back and keying in some information. "What else about him?"

He thought carefully. It wasn't easy. Even after he had the hallucination, he didn't remember much. "I don't know." he shrugged simply.

"You were able to get more details in on Monday, Endar. Just keep trying."

Endar glared at Ezri. He didn't want to keep trying. He was tired of giving these damned descriptions over and over. He gave a description of the boy in his hallucination every session. And she never got past anything else. The time would end, and Endar would go back on duty, and then two days later they'd meet in her office and she'd ask him the same questions all over again.

Finally he decided to ask her. "Ezri, can't we move on? I've described him every session for the past week."

Ezri put the PADD down with a sigh and leaned forward, hands clasped together, fingers locking. "Endar, this is important. That boy is an integral part of that sequence. The more we learn about the boy, the more we'll uncover about you."

Endar looked back up at the ceiling, not completely convinced. "I'm tired of talking about it."

But Ezri didn't seem to be paying attention, working furiously into her PADD. Lately it seemed like she never paid attention to his feelings -- it was always about what she wanted. She wanted to hear about this stupid boy. Stupid boy. He didn't even know him and he hated him.

And he didn't get how that boy could reveal anything about himself. That was just a coincidence. He just happened to be in the same tunnel as Endar. It didn't mean anything.

Suddenly her gaze roved from the PADD to Endar's hands. "Why are you gripping the sofa like that?"

Endar turned to her. Finally, a question not about the boy. "Because this thing is so frickin' small. I feel like I'm going to fall off it."

"Since when?"

"Since always. Since we started this - I'm just getting sick of it." He figured he'd address his complaint about the couch, since he obviously had her attention. "You know Ezri, you'd think a counselor would have a proper big couch for the patient. You know, one that would make him feel comfortable. I envision something really big and overstuffed, in dark leather. With those funny button-looking things sewn in that make it all quilt-like."

When he finished his request, Ezri looked back at the PADD, wrote some more down, and then looked up. "So, you have this fear of falling. And how do you think that relates to the hallucination?"

Endar snapped his head to her, eyes glaring. Is she kidding? Is she really kidding? What in Hell is the matter with her? How did my fear of falling off her stupid Cardie couch have anything to do with that stupid vision and that stupid boy? Is she even listening to me? Does she even care? He jumped up off the couch and stood over her, hands at his hips, eyes glaring. "What does it have to do with anything?" he shouted at her. "What does any of this have to do with anything?"

Dax sat there, stone-faced, unperturbed. "Calm yourself, Commander," she said quietly.

Calm myself? He thought. I'm uncomfortable and tired of this whole thing altogether and she tells me to calm myself? "Calm myself? Don't tell me to calm myself! Why don't you start acting like a compassionate counselor and then I'll start to calm myself…Counselor!"

"What do you want, Endar? What's the matter?" she asked.

Endar watched her incredulously. He was trying to look as menacing as possible, hoping to get her to back down, but it wasn't working. She was still stone-faced, not budging at all in her seat, no squirming, no shifting uncomfortably, no flinching. She wouldn't even breathe heavily. She couldn't even give him that much power. He looked down at the table between the couch and Ezri's chair. A little, oblong, black metal table with a couple of half-drunk teas on it. Some PADDS. Cardassian design to go with the dreary Cardassian decor on this rotating space dump of a Cardassian space station. It made his life so much harder.

Finally, unable to get any satisfaction, he picked up the table and, with a heave and a grunt, turned it on its side. The PADDs clattered on the ground, the cups shattered, spraying tea everywhere.

And Ezri simply sat there. She looked at it a moment, then went back to write on her stupid PADD, which only served as fuel for Endar. He grabbed the PADD from her and tossed it into the corner, neither of them moving as the PADD hit the floor with a clang. She looked up at him, no emotion on her face, hands folded in her lap. He frowned, and shook his index finger at her. "I am so sick of answering your dumb questions! And I'm sick of this stupid treatment plan. And I'm sick of that stupid boy and his stupid blond hair and violet eyes and I'm --"

"Blond hair and violet eyes?"

Endar stopped when Ezri spoke for the first time in minutes. "Yeah, so what?"

Ezri stood and motioned to the PADD flung into the corner. Picking it up, she accessed some data. "Last time you said he had black hair and blue eyes. The session before that you said he had brown hair and green eyes. The session before that you said he --"

Endar threw up his hands, finally admitting defeat. What was the use? "So I screwed up again." He plopped back onto the couch.

"Commander, you give me a different description of the boy each time we meet. But there's a difference in the description this time, Endar," Ezri said after a few minutes, walking back to her chair.

"Yeah? What's that?" he pouted.

Ezri walked past her chair and sat down next to him. "You were describing yourself."

Endar looked up at her. He was? He was.

She smiled and patted his lap. "I think we've done enough for today. I want you to try and explore this. There's something more here, Endar. Try some of those Altarian breathing techniques I showed you. They're supposed to relax your mind while you remember things. They might help you here."

Endar's face screwed up. He hated those stupid breathing techniques. He could never remember which beats to exhale on. Not worth his time.

Ezri looked at him and smiled. "Endar? Please?" she cajoled.

But Endar would try -- because Ezri was trying for him. He nodded. "Okay."

* * * *

One...two...three....exhale....

Endar blew out a puff of air as the turbolift whizzed up to Ops. The lifts been running much smoother since they'd broken down a couple of weeks ago -- faster and less jerky. Since he didn't feel he had to hang on for dear life anymore, Endar could spend the time concentrating on more important things.

Not that Altarian Breathing was very important.

Unless, of course, you're Altarian, he mused with an inhale.

He held the air for two seconds and then began a slow count, at even numbers releasing some of the air into the lift. He didn't quite see how it was helpful. He didn't remember anything more or less while practicing the breathing method Dax had taught him. And it didn't relax him at all -- if anything, it made him more conscientious of himself, partly because he didn't want to mess up and partly because he looked like some sort of blowfish while doing it.

When all the air was out, Endar waited two seconds before sucking in more air, just as the lift rose into Ops. As the turbolift halted, Endar froze, realizing his cheeks were filled with air. He flushed at the embarrassment of it all and exhaled. Hopefully no one saw him.

"Commander, the colonel's expecting you," Ensign Kuhlman replied, looking up from his post. Endar let out another sigh and made his way to the colonel's office.

As much as he enjoyed the break from his duties, the counseling sessions with Dax always left him feeling uneasy. He'd spent as much time as he could remember escaping from whatever it was that was haunting him. The last thing he wanted was for those memories to resurface. He knew, however, that his life had been in a downward spiral before he started working with Ezri.

So he was torn. Part of him believed in Ezri's therapy, but the other part wanted to keep running and forget the past altogether.

Kira wasn't making his situation any easier. It was increasingly frustrating to work under her. She hadn't done anything since they'd last spoken to each other two weeks ago, which was entirely the point. She'd barely uttered two words to him. Orders from Kira came down through Ensign Kuhlman quite often. It was degrading to Endar to be treated in such a manner. He had to admit, if it wasn't for Ezri he'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble with Kira. But if Kira had no interest in working with him, how was he supposed to learn to respect her?

He was certain he knew what this was about. Feeling neglected, he decided to get Kira's attention by not turning in the duty roster for next week. No doubt he was being called in to be yelled at. Good. It was better than nothing. It was a boring, laborious task anyway. Besides, it was only a day late, and he was going to turn it in -- after she said something.

After hopping up the stairs, Endar rang the door chime. He heard a muffled "come in," and hit the button to open the double doors.

"Colonel?" he said shortly.

Colonel Kira Nerys sat behind her desk facing away from him, a PADD in hand. "Commander, pack your bags," she said in a tone as curt as Endar's.

Endar's eyes widened. He knew Kira hated tardiness, especially when it came to reports, but she was kicking him out over it? "Now hold on --" he started, taking a few steps toward her.

"You've been invited to a conference on Risa," she said.

Endar stopped. "Oh? What sort of conference?"

Kira snorted. "Tactical conference -- 'Attaining Maximum Defensive Procedures in Peace Time.' Should hold your interest well -- you already know quite a lot about the station's defense grid."

Endar's eyes narrowed at her sarcasm. She's obviously not going to let me live that down ever. Nog had briefed the entire senior staff about the Cardassian booby trap he'd tripped. He was happy to know it was now proven that he hadn't done anything purposely, and he thought Kira was blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

"I'll be sure to enjoy myself," he replied sweetly. "You know, I've...never been to Risa. I hear it's quite...nice."

"You could say that," Kira replied. There was an awkward pause before Kira put the PADD she was holding down on the desk and slid it to him, not once even turning her head. "Here's your clearance and itinerary. You leave tomorrow at 0900. You're permitted to use the Orinocco."

Endar picked up the order and scrolled through it, not finding anything particularly interesting. How did people manage to make something as fascinating as weaponry sound so boring? He thought. "Thank you…Colonel. Am I dismissed?"

"One more thing, Commander," she replied, holding up a finger. "You aren't leaving until I see that duty roster. It will be on my desk by tomorrow morning before you leave, or I will personally notify Starfleet as to why you won't be at that conference."

Endar smiled sheepishly. He knew he was not going to get away that easily. "Gee, thank you, Colonel. I'll have that report on your desk first thing, sir," he said with an exaggerated salute.

Kira sighed. "Dismissed."

Just as Endar turned on his heels and headed for the door, Ensign Kuhlman's voice rang in. "Sir, there's a communique coming in from Ferenginar I think you should see. It's coming in on all channels," he said, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Endar heard Kira sigh again. "Put it through."

Endar stopped and looked at the viewscreen as a Ferengi head loomed large on the screen. "My fellow Ferengi. This is your new Chief Financier, Grand Nagus Grak...."

Kira bolted from her chair. She turned and faced Endar, who returned a confused look. He didn't know much about Ferengi politics to understand what was going on.

"For over a year our way of life has been infiltrated by foreign ideals, human ideals," Grak spat, emphasizing "human" in traditional Ferengi fashion.

The two looked at each other, Kira's face full of shock and worry, Endar's full of confusion.

"...We are not Human, or Bajoran, or Vulcan, or Klingon. We are Ferengi. We have the right to keep our way of life."

Finally Kira broke her stare from Endar's and slapped her combadge. "Ensign Kuhlman, broadcast it on all channels. This concerns everyone."

"Aye, sir," Kuhlman replied.

As the large screen came to life in Ops, Endar turned to the door to see people stopping what they were doing and watching. Some gasped, others froze, eyes widening. Endar felt left out of an inside joke that wasn't very funny to begin with.

Then Ensign Pedorina turned, and Endar followed her eyes to Lt. Nog in his usual perch in Engineering, eyes wide as saucers, his jaw clenched, his skin paling slightly and his hand gripping the computer console.

"We will bring Ferengi ideals back to our people. We will restore the Rules of Acquisition to their original brilliance, and save our failing economy."

Others followed Pedorina's example and looked up at Nog, who stood and walked closer to the screen, eyes never leaving it, hands balled into fists.

I guess it makes sense that he's upset -- they are his people, Endar reasoned. Why's he so tense, though? What am I missing?

"And two days from tomorrow, we will begin anew! For their treason, ex-Grand Nagus Rom and his cohorts will be executed in front of the Tower of Commerce. I invite every righteous, enterprising Ferengi to come and see the spectacle."

Endar heard a soft gasp, and turned to see Kira fall back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She shook her head slowly. This is what they were worried about, he thought. They know this person.

He turned back to Ops and saw Pedorina reach out to Nog, laying a hand on his shoulder. Others looked on sympathetically. Nog's head was bowed, but he could see it, feel it even -- pain. It's someone he knows. Someone...he loves. Cares about. Worries about.

"We will reclaim our society from Federation ideals. May the Divine Exchequer speed our recovery!"

The screen went transparent in Ops; people broke away, watching Nog carefully.

"You're not going to get that duty roster done standing in the doorway, Commander," said the voice behind him.

Endar sighed. The moment was over, things were back to normal. "Yes...Colonel."

In Ops, he heard people whispering behind cupped hands, trying to look as though they were working. Sitting at his post, he pulled up the duty roster and quickly got to work. The whispering, however, made it awfully hard to concentrate. And then Nog.

He couldn't help but watch him, read his expression. The way he still stood there, staring at the screen as if it were still running that declaration. The way he didn't seem to notice that Pedorina was still there at his side, hand on his shoulder, trying to console him.

Nog is searching for something. Endar sat back from the table and put his hands behind his head, watching Nog. Some color returned to the Ferengi's face, but he was still flushed, full of anger. His widened eyes blinked for the first time since the communique had been opened, and they roved, as if scanning something.

He's searching for a way to get home.

Chapter Two

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